"Hold thi noise, lumpheead," shoo sed, "an' get thi braikfast an awl see if aw connot do summat for thi. Aw expect it'll have to be scaar'd off."
Soa after th' braikfast shoo made him ligg daan o' th' hearthstooan, an' shoo gate some wire scale an' started o' scrubbin one side ov his head, as if shoo'd been polishin th' fender; but he couldn't stand that, an' he laup'd up, an' donced up an' daan th' hoil, sayin all sooarts o' awkward things.
"What the dickens are ta thinkin on," he sed, "does ta fancy awm made o' cast-iron?"
"Aw dooan't know what tha'rt made on, but aw know tha artn't made o'th' reight sooart o' stuff for a fayther ov a family to be made on; but if tha connot get it off thisen, an' tha weant let me, tha'll be forced to stop as tha art, that's all." An' away shoo flew aat o' th' haase and left him.
"Nay fer sewer! An' whativer did he do?"
Well, he set daan and studied a bit, then he sent for a doctor, net becoss he felt poorly, but becoss he wanted to know what to do to get it off. Soa th' doctor coom, an' they say he couldn't spaik for iver soa long, for laffin at him; an' he tell'd him he'd be monny a week befoor he gate reight, an' it wod have to wear off by degrees; but his hair, he sed, wod niver be reight, soa he mud as weel have it shaved off sooin as lat. Soa he sent for Timmy, th' barber, an' had it done, an' when his wife coom back, thear he wor set, lukkin for all th' world like a lot o' old clooas wi' a ball o' red seealin wax stuck at th' top; an' thear he is i'th' haase nah, whear he'll ha to stop wol his hair grows agean.
"Nay fer sewer! An does he niver goa aat?"
"Niver,—he did goa to th' door one day when Hiram's little lass went to borrow th' looaf tins, but shoo wor soa freetened, wol shoo ran hooam, an' her mother says shoo believes shoo's gooin to have soor een; mun, he's flaysome to luk at, an' th' child has niver been like hersen sin, an' shoo connot sleep ov a neet for dreamin abaat it."
"Nay fer sewer! An what says Musty?"
"Awve niver heeard what he's sed sin he lost his shop, but Sucksmith says he's noan gooin to let it rest, for he'll send 'em some law if it costs him a paand—An' Musty says he doesn't care ha sooin for he wod be sure ov a bit o' summat to ait if he wor sent daan th' rails—but aw think it'll get made up agean. But awve left yond child ith' creddle bi hersen, soa aw mun be off." Away shoo went an' Sally watched her aat o'th seet, an' then sank into a cheer, roll'd up her arms in her appron, stared into th' fire, an' sed, "Nay fer sewer! Well ov all!—Nay fer sewer!"